


Hiding from Her Eyes

by CherieoftheDragons (SignCherie), SignCherie



Series: Mirevas Lavellan, canon universe [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, blackwall romance spoilers, game-appropriate violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/CherieoftheDragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/SignCherie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Blackwall saw Mirevas, she was just this little, brown slip of a thing, turning up at the most inopportune moment. Plain and unassuming, he thought, but, no, there was nothing unassuming about this girl. You looked into her eyes, and she went from unimposing to intimidating. Those were eyes that had seen things they shouldn’t and took nothing for granted.</p><p>What would those eyes see in him?</p><p>A Blackwall romance with an honest and compassionate Lavellan, a lot of self-flagellation on Blackwall's part, and as much hope as I can give him. Spoilers for Blackwall's personal arc and the Blackwall romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my entry for the Dragon Age Big Bang, and as such, I am lucky to have been gifted with art from garruskrazykanuck / MizDirected. It's absolutely gorgeous -- go look at it! I couldn't be happier.
> 
> http://jarensbud.deviantart.com/art/They-Still-Speak-the-Legend-532932356
> 
> I owe the hugest of thanks to my beta/writing partner Aphreal for helping me wrangle this beast into a shape that I'm proud to post.
> 
> AND FINALLY if you want to seek me out on tumblr, I'm cherieofthedragons there. XD

The first time he saw her, she was just this little, brown slip of a thing, turning up at the most inopportune moment. What a time for a child like that to come waltzing along, almost getting herself killed. He fully expected her to run for cover while he and his “recruits” took out the incoming threat.

A moment later, she unsheathed a greatsword as big as herself, and he saw how glaringly wrong he was.

When the threat was gone, he dismissed the boys he’d pretended to conscript and turned his full attention to her. Plain and unassuming, he’d thought, but, no, there was nothing unassuming about this girl. You looked into her eyes, and she went from unimposing to intimidating. Those were eyes that had seen things they shouldn’t and took nothing for granted.

How much had she seen, then? Did she know his secret? Was that why she was here?

Pointed ears, a tattooed face. A Dalish elf, then. He’d never seen one before. No, she wouldn’t be likely to recognize an Orlesian criminal. Still...

“You’re no farmer. Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

She tilted her head. “I know your name because I’m an agent of the Inquisition.”  Her voice was quiet, polite. The last thing he expected from a Dalish. This girl was a mass of contradictions, challenging all his preconceptions. He didn’t know what to make of her.

Her next words sent him reeling in another way. “I’m investigating whether the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

Not about him. She wasn’t here about him. This was almost worse.

“Maker’s balls,” he said without thinking, then inwardly cringed at speaking so crudely in front of a lady. But her words made no sense. He couldn’t quite process them. “The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t--” Then he realized. “No, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.”

He relaxed a bit. If there were any real link between the Wardens and such a crime, she wouldn’t have needed to come seeking Blackwall. Me, seeking me, he corrected himself darkly. The Wardens were innocent. He’d known they must be.

She was looking at him with those eyes that saw everything, and he realized he hadn’t answered her. Shit.

“First off, I didn’t know they disappeared.” Fuck, how could he explain that? “But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten.”

Andraste’s tits, that made no sense. No military order just disappeared without reason, and the Blight being recent made them more noticed, not less. The girl -- woman -- before him frowned, and he thought he was going to be called out.

“But one thing I’ll tell you,” he added quickly, “no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

“I’m not here to accuse,” the girl said kindly. “Not yet. I just need information.”

She believed him. He must have sounded more reasonable than he thought.

“I’ve only found you,” she continued. “Where are the rest?”

Best to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I haven’t seen any Wardens in months. I travel alone, recruiting.”

Was it his imagination, or did those brown eyes soften?

Definitely his imagination. Why was this woman affecting him so much? He rambled a bit about conscripting and such. Then, on the off-chance that it might impress her, he explained how he’d helped the victims of the bandits they’d just fought.

“Grey Wardens can inspire,” he said. “Make you better than you think you are.”

He wasn’t imagining. Those penetrating eyes were filled with understanding. It threw him off balance.

“Well, thank you, Warden Blackwall,” she said, “but where does that leave us?”

Us. Her and him? A simple word, but it hit him hard. It couldn’t be what she meant, the two of them. She meant her Inquisition and their investigation. But -- could there be an us that he was part of?

Not the two of them. No, that was impossible. But this Inquisition was doing good work. What was he doing now? Wandering, hiding. Scrounging for any little way to help people, to make himself better.

If he wanted to help people, what better chance than her Inquisition?

She was walking away.

“Inquisition!” he found himself calling. “Agent, did you say? Hold a moment.”

The girl turned.

“The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

What was it about her? She looked at him, but not like he’d ever been looked at before. Blackwall was certain she wasn’t seeing a man. Her eyes looked straight through the shell of flesh at something far deeper.

His skin started to itch. He couldn’t imagine what she saw, but he knew there was nothing under the surface that he wanted her to know.

Then she smiled. “Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

Just like that.

* * *

 

Her name was Mirevas. He liked the way it sounded. The syllables rolled off the tongue like bells. Well, not his tongue. His voice made it gruff, crude. He couldn’t do it justice, and it irritated him.

He called her “my lady” instead. She deserved the respect of the title anyhow.

She wasn’t a girl, but despite her obvious strength, it was hard not to think of her that way. It wasn’t just her size. There was an innocence in the way she interacted with people. The polite, friendly tone of her voice, her quiet manner. How a person could be so damned unassuming and still so strong was beyond him, yet there she was, impossible to ignore.

She wouldn’t have been considered a beauty in Val Royeaux, even for an elf. She was too unconventional, her face too long, her lips too thick. And there was something earthy about her, something that would never fit in at an expensive soiree. The Orlesian nobles would turn up their nose at her, he was sure.

They were fools. Mirevas was lovelier than any stuffed-up noblewoman in overdone finery.

He shouldn’t be thinking about her the way he did, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He tried not to be caught staring, but sometimes he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He imagined kissing those full lips, touching that warm, tawny skin, running his fingers through her silky black hair -- and then hated himself for the indulgence. She was too good for him. Even thinking about her seemed to taint her.

He was pleased that she allowed him to accompany her often when she went out to the Hinterlands. He was proud of the work they did there. Bringing food to refugees to ease the ache of hunger; hunting the bastards who threatened safety of the people; sinking his blade deep into demon flesh, tearing the monsters apart while Mirevas exploded rifts into oblivion -- he was truly doing good now. Making a difference in the world.

Maybe it was just Mirevas who made a difference. That was all right with Blackwall. He would be a force at her back while she changed the world.

It would be an honor.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

One day he found her in the practice yard, hacking apart a straw-stuffed dummy. That wasn’t any surprise. Mirevas was a skilled warrior, and she didn’t stay that way by avoiding practice. No, the surprise was that she wasn’t using a greatsword. Her hands held a longsword and shield.

And the greater surprise was that she was damned good with them.

She hadn’t seen him yet, and rather than say something, he watched her silently. Her movements were graceful, natural. As if she were fluent in the weapons’ language. Not perfect, but for someone who favored two-handed blades, he was surprised to see she had the flexibility to use others so well. There were minor flaws in her approach, but the way she handled the weapons -- Blackwall thought it looked more natural to her than the bulky greatswords and axes she usually wielded.

Mirevas swung at the dummy, spinning to dodge an imaginary blow, and caught sight of Blackwall. She straightened, sword arm falling to her side.

“Blackwall,” she said. There was an awkward pause. “Hello.”

“I apologize, my lady. I should have made you aware of my presence.”

Mirevas shook her head. “No, it’s hardly a private setting.” She gestured to the throngs of recruits practicing only a stone’s throw away.

“All the same.”

She glanced at him, then looked quickly away. “Are you here to practice?”

“I -- yes.” He’d gotten so caught up in watching her he’d forgotten his original purpose. “I didn’t know you could use a sword and shield.”

Mirevas grimaced. “That’s because I can’t. Well, you saw me just now. I think they’re beautiful weapons, but I’m terrible with them.”

“Terrible?” Blackwall couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re a natural. How long have you been using them?”

She blinked. “Since I was old enough to start training. But not regularly. I would borrow weapons from my clanmates, but -- well, both my parents were greatsword fighters. Before they died.”

She was an orphan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Mirevas shrugged, examining the ground. “I wanted to follow in their footsteps. But there’s something, I don’t know, comforting about using a shield. Having a barrier between yourself and the enemy.”

“It’s an entirely different way of doing battle,” Blackwall said. “My lady, you do it like it’s second nature. You have a gift for it. If you practice more often, you’ll be near unstoppable.”

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, then took a stance. “Show me what I’m doing wrong,” she said. “If you would, please.”

It was a solid stance. Her shield arm was the tiniest bit lax. Her left elbow needed to come up an inch. Blackwall could walk up to her, touch her, adjust her pose himself. But it was unnecessary. He only needed to tell her what to do, and she would fix it.

Slowly, he approached her, stepping behind her. He placed a hand on her left arm, nudging it into place. A thrill went through him at the contact. He hesitated before raising his other hand to rest on the small of her back, keeping it straight. “Like this.” His voice was huskier than he meant it to be.

“Ah,” Mirevas said quietly.

He expected her to move away. She didn’t. She should be moving away. He should be moving away.

She tilted her head to look at him.

“I -- I’m sorry, my lady.” He dropped her arm. “You’re doing well. I should leave you to it.”

He started to walk away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Blackwall!”

He turned.

“You said I could use some practice. Maybe you could be my teacher. Work with me while we’re here in Haven.” She smiled uncertainly. “I would like that.”

Blackwall’s mouth had gone dry. “Yes, of course.” It was impossible to refuse such an invitation. “It would be a privilege.”

\----------

Screaming. The sickening sound of metal hitting flesh. It sounded wrong. Metal should clang. Sword against sword, against armor.

Dear Maker, those were the cries of children.

Thom bolted upright, blankets tangled around him, sweat covering his body. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Canvas walls around him, crickets chirping.

Camp. The Hinterlands. They’d brought blankets to the refugees yesterday, and tomorrow they would clear out the bandits plaguing the East Road.

The memory grounded him. He was helping so many people now. Surely, surely, this was the right thing to do. Surely he was atoning, just a little. If he were executed, he couldn’t save lives. He was acting for the best.

He couldn’t be alone with his thoughts now. Thom pushed open the canvas flap and stepped out into the cool night air.

Mirevas was there, sitting by the fire. The flickering light cast a golden glow over her features, making her even more bewitching than usual. She looked up. “Blackwall.”

Blackwall. He let the name settle over him like armor.

“My lady.”

She gestured to the space next to her. Right next to her. No, he should sit on the other side of the fire. He didn’t deserve to be close to a lady like her.

He sat at her side. His shoulder brushed hers.

“Nightmares?” she asked.

“How did you know?”

“You were crying out in your sleep.”

He started. “Did I say anything?”

“You said, ‘no.’ Over and over.”

It could have been much worse. Blackwall shuddered at the thought that he might spill his secret while he slept.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. He took a breath. “No. I want to forget.”

Mirevas looked at the fire. She picked up a stick and poked at the charred logs.

“This is the moment when I should distract you with a funny anecdote, some silly story from my past.” She paused. “I don’t think I have any funny anecdotes.”

He smiled. “It’s not your job to distract me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You do enough.”

MIrevas set the stick down. “I never really had friends before. I’m not sure I know how to do it.”

Blackwall’s mouth fell open. “No friends? You?”

She shrugged. “I don’t talk to people easily. I don’t know what to say to them.”

It was true she was quiet, but she had the air of someone who measured her words purposefully. He’d had no idea she felt uncomfortable with people. And someone like her? “From what I’ve seen, people fall at your feet.”

Mirevas gave him a sideways look, her lips quirking in a wry smile. “They think I’m the Herald of Andraste.”

“That’s not why. You -- you’re inspiring.”

She looked at him for a long time, those intense eyes penetrating right through him. “I think you’re inspiring.”

A wave of guilt washed over him. “I’m not, my lady. You mustn’t think so.”

She frowned, then looked back at the fire.

Maker’s balls, he’d upset her. This was going terribly.

“My lady, you -- you make the world better. You see an injustice, and you right it. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Anybody would look up to you.” His mouth was dry. “I know I do.”

“You don’t think you’re like that?”

The words stuck in his throat.

“I know how you saved the refugees before I showed up in the Hinterlands.” She spoke so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her words over the crackle of the fire. “They told me you fought off the demons and saved their lives. Those recruits with you when we first met -- a man named Giles told me they followed you eagerly. They wanted to be like you. You inspired them.”

“I’m not--” How could he explain without giving away his lie? He looked away, turning his eyes to the mountains without really seeing anything. “I’m not like you. I have… doubts. All the time.”

“You think I don’t?”

“I…”

The touch of fingers on the back of his hand jolted his gaze back to her face.

“I never had anyone but myself before,” she said quietly. “I hunted alone. I brought back game. It was a rare occurrence for anyone to talk to me. I was responsible for no one but myself.”

She looked down at where her skin touched his.

“Now I have hundreds of people looking to me. Thousands of lives depending on me. Blackwall, I have no idea what I’m doing. And I --”

Her voice cut off. She bit her bottom lip.

Then her eyes met his, and he could swear he saw fear in them. She trailed one finger over his knuckles.

“I still feel alone,” she whispered.

Blackwall’s heart was pounding. This -- it couldn’t be happening. Her beauty as she looked up at him nearly stopped his heart. She couldn’t be -- she couldn’t want --

Mirevas pulled back her hand suddenly and looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have -- I’ll let you get back to sleep. You don’t need me keeping you up all night. I’ll go back to my tent.”

She hurried away, her face hidden from his view, leaving him alone and breathless.


	3. Chapter 3

Teaching Mirevas to use a sword and shield was both wonderful and torturous. He had so many opportunities to touch her, to adjust her posture, guide her arms. And he took them, oh, he took them. It was a bitter sweetness, being so close to her, because he never could have her, never could deserve her. And yet, he couldn’t find the willpower to resist those little touches. The way she looked at him when he was close to her… Maker take him, he wanted to pull her into his arms and crush his lips to hers. He wanted to kiss her until she was desperate and panting his name. He wanted to… he wanted to…

He shouldn’t even think of what he wanted to do with her.

He did, though. He thought of it all. When he was alone at night, he indulged all manner of fantasies, his fist gripping his cock, pumping hard and fast. He could picture her, how soft and pliant she would be. Or hard and demanding. Or slow and teasing. He could hear her moans, see her face gone slack with pleasure, feel her clenching and trembling as she came --

And he would come hard, everywhere, her face in his mind, waves of ecstasy pounding through his body.

When it was done, the shame would hit him. He’d clean himself up, trying to ignore what he had done. She was not for him. He needed to let her go.

* * *

 

From his perspective, Redcliffe castle was almost uneventful. They showed up. Mirevas exchanged words with the magister. A rift opened. Mirevas disappeared. For one empty moment, Blackwall thought the ground had fallen out beneath him. And then she was back, barely gone an instant, and the Tevinter bastard was on his knees before her.

Just as Blackwall was, he supposed.

He heard the report. It was impossible to believe. In that second she’d been gone, she’d seen a whole world. The future.

No one should have to see the atrocities she’d witnessed, and especially not her. The difference between the moment Mirevas disappeared and the moment she came back was in the cold fury that burned through her eyes, and behind that, pain. Blackwall had watched those eyes enough to recognize what she felt. He wished he could take the suffering away, tear it from her and stomp it into nothingness. Instead, he stood helpless as Mirevas dealt with the bastard in icy, measured tones.

She’d seen Blackwall there, in this future. Her report said he had died to save her, to give her a chance to come back and save the world. Blackwall was proud of that, at least. Proud to know he was a man who would give his life for the greater good.

Then he thought of what he’d done, how he was hiding, and he began to doubt it could be true. But Mirevas, giving his life for Mirevas, that he could believe.

When it came time to meet her for combat practice, he arrived early. With everything that had happened, he wasn’t sure she would come. But if she did, he wanted to see her. Badly.

He was surprised to find her already there, slashing away at a practice dummy as if her life depended on it. Maker, she was fierce. For all her quiet manners, she could be terrifying in her intensity. But she always seemed to soften with Blackwall, a fact that made his heart stutter when he thought of it.

At that moment, Mirevas saw him. Her weapons fell from her hands.

Blackwall didn’t like how pale her face had gone. “My lady, are you well?”

Mirevas bit her lip and shook her head. Before he knew it, she was running toward him, slamming into his chest so hard she almost knocked him over. Her arms went tight around his waist, pressing against his back, squeezing him hard enough that he could scarcely breathe. She buried her face in his neck.

Dazed, Blackwall wrapped his arms around her, daring to rest his cheek against her hair. “Shh,” he said. “You’re safe now. Nothing’s going to touch you.” I won’t let it.

“I saw you there.” Her voice was muffled, and he could feel her lips move against his neck as she spoke, sending a shiver through him he had no right to be feeling. “I watched you die.”

She couldn’t be this upset over him. Could she? “I’m here, my lady. Alive and well.”

He felt her nod. “Just -- give me a minute,” she said.

He was more than happy to do that. Hesitantly, he moved one hand to the back of her head, playing with the strands of hair that had escaped her tight bun. She made a little sound, but she didn’t move.

Maker’s breath, but this felt good. He’d imagined how she’d feel in his arms so many times, but having her there, in the flesh, actually in his embrace, was far, far better than he’d dreamed. He never wanted to let her go.

He could kiss her now. He actually thought she might want it. If he turned his head, if he lifted her chin...

_Liar. Murderer. Snake._

Blackwall shuddered. No.

She was the one who stepped back first, arms sliding away from him and leaving an emptiness in their wake. She wiped tears from her beautiful brown eyes. “I’m so sorry to impose.”

Blackwall had to use all his willpower not to pull her back into his arms. “You could never impose on me, my lady.”

She bit her lip. Her gaze fixed on him, and he thought he might combust from the emotion in it. Then she looked away. “I don’t think I can spar with you today. I’m not really in the mood to attack you with a sword.”

Blackwall laughed in spite of himself. “Don’t think I’m tough enough to take it?”

Mirevas studied the tips of his boots. “I’m just not up for it.” With a shrug she looked up at him. “Will you walk me to my quarters?”

* * *

 

They walked silently, but it was a comfortable silence. Mirevas’s presence at his side was like a warm blanket enveloping them both. About halfway to her little cottage, Mirevas slipped her fingers into Blackwall’s. And Blackwall, cowardly bastard that he was, let her.

When they reached her door, Mirevas turned to him, squeezing his fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Andraste’s flaming pyre, he wanted her. He’d never felt so close to her. She’d been in his arms, nestled against his chest. He ached to hold her again.

Blackwall pulled his hand away sharply and took a step backward. “My lady.” He bowed his head and escaped before he could do something he would regret.

Every step he took away from her, he had to fight not to turn back.


	4. Chapter 4

The Breach was closed, and all of Haven was celebrating. But nothing was that easy. Blackwall couldn’t help but feel that something worse was looming on the horizon.

Amidst the cheers of celebration, the clanging of warning bells broke through. “Forces approaching! To arms!”

The Commander’s voice. Sometimes Blackwall really hated being right. He headed straight for the gates, knowing that Mirevas would be there.

* * *

 

She was going to sacrifice herself to save the people. Of course she was. She was a damned hero. But by the flames, not Mirevas. He would not let her die.

There was no way to stop her from going out there. Sending her with the others wouldn’t save her, even if it were possible. The monster that called itself the Elder One had targeted her, and it would find her. She needed to be here, or no one would escape. Including Mirevas.

No, he couldn’t stop her, but he would damn well make sure she got out safe. There was a way. There had to be. And Blackwall would find it, even if it meant losing his own life.

Commander Cullen said a few final words to Mirevas, then took off after the others. Everyone was gone now, except for Mirevas and the three companions she’d been fighting with -- Solas, Varric, and Blackwall himself. He knew she would try to go alone. He wasn’t going to let her.

Blackwall planted himself in front of the Chantry door.

Mirevas slowed as she approached him, her face utterly neutral. Blackwall wished he knew what she was thinking. As much as he’d studied those eyes of hers, there were times when they were impossible to read. They took in everything, but when she wanted them to, they shut everything out as well.

She came to a stop in front of him. “Let me go, Blackwall.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.” Mirevas rarely gave Blackwall orders. She didn’t need to. But there was no mistaking the cold demand in her voice now. “You get to safety.”

She was stubborn. Well, Blackwall could be stubborn, too. “Not without you.”

“There’s no choice for me and no time to argue. Go, Blackwall.”

Blackwall crossed his arms over his chest. The two of them glared at each other.

“Herald.” That was Varric’s voice. “You won’t make it to those trebuchets alone. If you want to save those people, you need us.”

Mirevas’s eyes narrowed, and for a second, she didn’t speak. Then she looked at Blackwall with cold eyes. “Come on, then.”

She was angry. That was fine. Blackwall didn’t care how mad she was, so long as he went with her. He stepped aside to allow her to storm past and followed close on her heels, Solas and Varric falling into step with him.

It was a madhouse outside those doors. The battle was on them immediately. Blackwall slashed and parried, driving his blade deep into the flesh of those who would harm Mirevas, and every kill was a hot satisfaction in his chest. He would worry about the morality of that later.

* * *

 

The dragon’s piercing shriek drew all of their eyes to the stormy sky above. The beast circled, then dove for them.

“Move!” Mirevas’s shout brooked no disobedience. “Now!”

Blackwall obeyed. He ran.

It wasn’t until they reached the Chantry door that he realized Mirevas wasn’t with them. An icy chill shot through him.

“Mirevas!” he cried, his body already moving to run back.

A rough hand on his arm stopped him. He pushed at his attacker, only to have Bianca’s bolt pressed into his throat.

Blackwall blinked, registering Varric standing before him, eyes hard as flint.

Cold fury swept over him. “Kill me, then.” Blackwall growled through gritted teeth. “Because I’m going back for her.”

“She’ll die if you do.”

Those were the only words in existence that could have stopped him. “What?”

“She loves you,” Varric said. “If you’re there, she’ll keep you safe above herself. It’ll kill her as sure as I’m standing here.”

Blackwall’s heart clenched. The world tilted beneath him.

“She doesn’t--”

“Oh, yes, she does.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Blackwall’s hands squeezed in tight fists.

“I will shoot you before I let you go back there.” Varric cocked back the safety on Bianca. “If she has any chance, she needs to think you’re safe. I won’t let you threaten her.”

Too many emotions were swirling through Blackwall. She loved him. She couldn’t. If he left her, he’d be leaving her to certain death. He had go after her, to help her in any way he could. Varric was wrong. Blackwall’s own life didn’t matter.

Thom’s life didn’t matter.

Varric pressed the bolt harder into his throat. Hard enough to draw blood.

If Thom died here, he could do nothing. Why was Varric threatening him? The rogue was wasting valuable time, time he could be using to secure his own escape. He believed this enough to risk his own life over it. If Varric was so sure that Blackwall’s presence would put Mirevas in danger, could Thom take that risk?

_A coward. You’re a coward. You’ve always been a coward._

The words raced through Thom’s mind, over and over, as he ran to his own safety.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

They wouldn’t let him look for her. He was frozen near through when the three of them found the camp. His condition was too poor, they said. He would drop dead if he left the warmth of the fire.

Blackwall wasn’t sure dropping dead wasn’t a better alternative than sitting here. Fear and worry turned to rage in his bones. He wanted to smash something. He hated the men who had gone off to look without him. He hated the healers who had declared him unfit for the search. And most of all, he hated himself for not standing up to them. Mirevas could be out there, and here he was, enjoying a warm fire. What if she was staggering through the snow, and they didn’t find her? What if he was the one who would have spotted her, if only he had gone with them?

He thought he would go mad.

“We’ve found her! The Herald is alive!”

Blackwall was on his feet in an instant at the cry. He stumbled forward, his only thought finding Mirevas. There. Commander Cullen was striding through the camp with her in his arms. From the way her head lolled back, he could tell she was unconscious.

No one argued when Blackwall stepped up to Cullen. The commander simply nodded and put Mirevas into his arms. Blackwall shuddered at the first touch. She was as pale as death and icy cold.

He took her to a cot. The cot they’d assigned to him, close to the fire. The people bustled around him in a flurry of activity, but he was barely aware of it. Healing potions were brought. He dribbled the liquid between her lips, healing the worst of her bodily injuries, but it would do nothing for the cold, and she was frozen to the bone. A Chantry Mother brought some blankets, and Blackwall took them, wrapping Mirevas up, making her as snug and secure as he could.

Then he sat on the cold ground next to her and waited, not taking his eyes from her pallid face, willing those all-seeing eyes to open. The rest of the world disappeared. It didn’t matter that they were stranded in the mountains, cold and alone, hopeless and helpless. At this moment, the only thing that mattered was Mirevas, her blue-tinged lips, her freezing skin.

The Chantry Mother -- Giselle, that was her name, he recalled vaguely -- appeared again not much later. For a few moments, she stood there, simply taking them in. Then she spoke.

“She’ll get warm faster with someone holding her.”

Blackwall blinked, and then the words registered. Before he could think about the appropriateness of the act, he was under the blankets with her, squeezing his way onto the tiny cot, enveloping her tight in his arms. He shouldn’t. She was unconscious, she couldn’t consent, and he had no right to hold her like this. But it could keep her alive. No reason to feel guilty. Right?

Mother Giselle smiled as if reading his thoughts. “You may well save her life, Ser Blackwall,” she said, before turning away.

Blackwall pressed his cheek against Mirevas’s hair. She was so cold. So cold.

* * *

An hour or so later, she awoke. Her brown eyes opened, blinking, and focused on Blackwall’s face. Then she smiled, and it was a smile of such contentment that Blackwall’s breath caught. Her eyes fluttered closed again, and her arms reached for him, settling around his waist. “I’m dreaming,” she murmured.

“No, my lady.”

She nuzzled her head against his neck. “You only hold me like this in my dreams.”

She dreamed about him. Blackwall couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. His beautiful Mirevas, so strong, so brave, so kind. The truest of heroes. He wasn’t worth the breath it took for her to say his name.

But she dreamed about him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. “Will you call me ‘my lady’ again?”

His mind reeled, his world unsteady. “My lady. My lady, my beautiful lady.”

She sighed. “That’s wonderful.”

She thought it was a dream. He could say -- he could tell her --

“I would do anything for you, my lady.” The words were too small for what he felt. “If you have need, ask and it will be yours. There’s nothing I could deny you.” Nothing but the one thing he wanted more than all the world.

A smile flickered across her face, and her arms tightened around him.

“I can’t deserve you, Mirevas.”

“You said my name...” Her words were barely discernable.

Blackwall brushed a hand over her hair. A few moments later, her steady breathing told him she was asleep again.

He closed his eyes and dared to say the words he’d wanted to for so long. “I love you, Mirevas,” he whispered.

* * *

He left her before she could wake up again. Mother Giselle deemed it safe, and he didn’t want the temptation of being there when she awoke.

So he was in another part of the camp when the singing started.

He stood a distance off, partially concealed by a tent, and watched as the people lifted their voices in reverence, as they kneeled to her. He saw the hard line of her mouth, the proud tilt of her chin. He could read the awe, the fear, the devotion to the people in her eyes. When had he become so adept at reading her? But he knew what she was feeling as surely as if he were experiencing it himself.

This was meant to happen. She was destined for this. She could lead people with a look, a smile, a few simple words, and they would follow her to the ends of the world. Mirevas Lavellan was the leader the people needed.

If Andraste existed, there was no doubt she had sent Mirevas to them. She could not have done otherwise. If she didn’t -- and Blackwall questioned it sometimes, in the darkest recesses of his mind -- well, if she didn’t, it didn’t matter. Mirevas was a Herald all by herself.

And she was far too good for Blackwall to even raise his thoughts to her. Enough was enough. If he kept reaching for her, he would pull her down, drag her through the muck and horror that was his life. No, he couldn’t hurt her that way. She deserved the world, and Blackwall would be happy to be the dirt under her feet.

No more cowardice. This had to end, and Blackwall had to end it.

The song faded. Mirevas’s eyes landed on Blackwall, and she drew in a breath.

Maker, don’t let her come over here. I’m not ready to tell her. I can’t face it yet.

Solas stepped up to her from behind and spoke a few words in her ear. Reluctantly, she tore her eyes from Blackwall and followed Solas away from the camp.

Blackwall exhaled. He would have time to prepare himself, to steel his heart.

Whatever was blossoming between him and Mirevas would end. It was better that way. And if his anguished heart didn’t believe it, well, Blackwall was used to pain. He could endure it.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

He did it. He stood on the battlements, looking into the deep wells of her eyes, and told her it could never be, forcing the words painfully from his lips. He couldn’t explain why, so he distracted her as best he could with inconsequentials -- that she was the Inquisitor now, that they needed to focus on the path ahead, that too many people depended on her. It was true, but he wouldn’t have let any of that stand in their way if it hadn’t been for --

\-- for him. For Thom Rainier.

* * *

That night, he lay awake in his bed, his heart ripped open, raw, thinking only of her. Mirevas. He shuddered, trying to hold back the feelings, but they tore through him. He knew it would be painful, he knew, he knew, but this --

Her words ran through his mind, over and over. I care for you…. Can’t you just accept it?

Couldn’t he? Would it be so horrible just to give himself this little bit of happiness? It wasn’t too late; he could go to her now. She would forgive him, no doubt. She cared for him. He could have this. All he had to do was say yes to her.

And then he would be a monster, tricking her into a relationship with a man who didn’t exist, taking the pleasure of her body, her soul, all of her for himself, while she loved a man with Blackwall’s name, a man who devoted himself to doing good. He could never be that man, not in truth. He was a coward, a cur, a murderer who should have hanged long ago, and the fact that even now he longed to take her love under false pretenses only proved how low he really was.

No.

He had to find a way to go on. It seemed impossible for the world to continue when Mirevas had been torn from him, but it would, and he would endure. Somehow.

* * *

He didn’t see her for three days. Three excruciating days. Some part of him recognized her absence as a good thing. If he saw her, he might lose all resolve. But that knowledge didn’t make it any easier to live with. Even without her presence, she was always on his mind. Always in his thoughts. He yearned for her every moment of every day.

On the fourth day, he was in the stables, helping some recruits to clear out the rubble and make it serviceable, when she appeared, standing outside the doorway, the sunlight dancing across her face.

Blackwall’s heart stopped. He put down the debris he’d been moving and walked out to meet her.

“My lady.”

She had that face on, the one where she put up walls behind her eyes and he could see nothing beyond them. It made his stomach churn with anxiety.

“Just tell me one thing,” Mirevas shifted her weight. “You said you were fond of me. Was that a lie?”

Of course it was. The word “fond” could never sum up all he felt for her.

“I remember you,” Mirevas said. “In the mountains, when I was near frozen to death. You were there. I thought it was a dream at the time, but it wasn’t.”

No. Maker, no. He should never have said the things he did. And yet, a thrill went through him. She knew what he’d done. How he’d held her in his arms to heal her. She’d heard every secret feeling he’d confessed. She shouldn’t know, she shouldn’t, but -- he wanted her to, all the same.

Mirevas crossed her arms. “Tell me you don’t care about me, and I’ll go. Tell me, Blackwall.”

He should tell her. She could move on if she thought he didn’t want her. But he’d caused them both so much pain already. To tear away the last of their hope -- he couldn’t do that, too.

“You know that’s not the case.”

Her eyes looked past him, then focused on his face again.

“Why?”

“I told you, my lady. The Inquisition -- our goals --”

“Is that really it? Really enough for you to --”

She stopped.

“My lady --”

“Please don’t.” Despite her stony expression, Blackwall saw moisture shining in her eyes. “I think I have my answer.”

She walked swiftly away before Blackwall could say another word.

* * *

To Blackwall’s surprise, things went back to normal after that. Well, almost normal. He stopped training her with sword and shield. She didn’t need his help anymore. Mirevas was using the weapons out in the field now, and she handled them better than she used a greatsword. It was like they were meant for her.

One night, at camp, he asked her about it, about the greatsword and carrying on her parents’ legacy. Her lip quirked up, and she said, “They’d want me to fight the way I fight best. And -- I’m following someone else’s footsteps now.”

Then she disappeared into her tent.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Getting back to normal should have been a good thing. And it was. But a small part of Blackwall wished she would avoid him so he wouldn’t be tempted every day, every night. And the largest part of him wished for so much more that “normal” seemed a bitter mockery.

But he was forced to accept normal. And despite his aching heart, he could admit it was for the best.

Still, with her around so much, Mirevas plagued his thoughts constantly. And he indulged himself in certain fantasies. Not the sexual ones, although he was still polluting her with those, still allowing his baser thoughts to take over as he drove himself to orgasm night after night. But the other fantasies were worse. Fantasies of weddings, of Mirevas in a beautiful gown pledging her love to him. Fantasies of a home, maybe a cottage somewhere, a mabari puppy, a warm hearth. Mirevas’s belly swollen with his child. Little feet pattering around the house, little arms around him, little faces with Mirevas’s eyes and his -- well, little faces that looked like Mirevas.

Andraste’s tits, it was awful. But he couldn’t stop them, and he didn’t want to.

It was, perhaps, those fantasies that led him to carve the wooden rocking-horse. Rocking-griffon. It was meant for the children here at Skyhold, but when he thought of children, well -- if he ever had little ones of his own, he’d want them to have something like this to play with. A griffon to represent the Wardens, just a little piece of the Order that had restored his hope in a good life. It was never going to happen, but he played a game of make-believe with himself. When he carved, he could pretend the fantasies were real. It hurt more when he had to face the truth, but that was just another indulgence he couldn’t break himself of.

* * *

“My lady, I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I can do it.” Mirevas teetered on the edge of the cliff, reaching for the elfroot plant growing awkwardly out of the side of the mountain.

Blackwall looked at Varric and Solas. Varric shook his head. “Inquisitor,” he said. “You do realize there are three other elfroot plants just over there.”

“I know.” Mirevas leaned out further, stretching her fingers toward the green leaves. “I’ll get them, too.”

“My lady, please.” Blackwall glanced down over the cliff’s edge, and his head swam at the distance. “Come back here where it’s safe.”

“I will in just a --”

“ _Please_.”

Something in his voice must have surprised her, because she looked back at him with wide eyes. Then she nodded. “Very well. I suppose it _is_ just one plant.”

It happened in an instant. Mirevas took one step back towards safety. A rock dislodged beneath her back foot. Before Blackwall could blink, Mirevas’s body was tumbling down the cliffside.

“No!”

Varric’s hand on Blackwall’s arm stopped him from hurling himself forward. “Hero, are you mad? There’s a path down this mountain ten feet away from us. Hurry, we need to get there fast.”

* * *

Her body was twisted and broken on the rocks. Blackwall had the potion in his hands before he even reached her. He fell to his knees at her side, lifting her head to dribble the liquid into her mouth.

It spilled out over her chin. She wasn’t swallowing.

“No,” Blackwall said. “No, no. My lady, drink.”

He pressed the vial to her lips again, but the potion spilled uselessly onto the rocky ground. The bottle was empty. Blackwall tossed it aside and reached for another.

“Hero,” Varric said in a low voice.

Blackwall pretended not to hear him. He would not listen to what he knew Varric would say. Mirevas was alive. In a moment she would drink the potion and open her eyes.

_Mirevas, wake up_.

“Hold, Blackwall.” That was Solas. “Let me help.”

Help, yes, Solas could help. Blackwall forced himself to stop for whatever Solas would do.

A blue light enveloped Mirevas. Right under Blackwall’s eyes, her limbs straightened themselves, and her body regained the appearance of normality.

Blackwall stared. He’d never seen Solas use power like this. Usually the group relied on potions for healing. Blackwall hadn’t known the mage had the ability to heal on this scale.

Solas fell to his knees with a thud. “The potion, Blackwall.” His voice was weak. “Use it now.”

Blackwall obeyed immediately, pouring the liquid into his lady’s mouth. _Swallow, Mirevas. Please. I’ll give my own life gladly if you’ll just wake up._

For one torturous heartbeat, nothing happened. Then a muscle in her throat moved, then moved again, and her eyes opened.

Blackwall shuddered. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her. One hand cupped her cheek, and the other brushed the hair back from her eyes.

“My lady,” he choked, and then his throat closed up. His head fell forward, and he tried to fight the sobs that were rising in his chest.

Mirevas sat up. Her arms embraced him, drawing his head against her bosom. Blackwall couldn’t stop himself from shaking. He clutched her tight and buried his face against her armor.

“You do care,” she said in wonder.

“I don’t think there was ever any doubt about that,” Varric said wryly.

Mirevas just cradled Blackwall’s head in her arms, whispering soothing words. _I’m all right, I’m right here. Don’t be afraid._

“I think, Inquisitor,” Solas said, “that perhaps you should be taken off elfroot collecting duty from now on.”

Mirevas let out a dry chuckle. “I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. “Oh, but isn’t there a plant right over --”

“No,” said Varric and Solas at the same time.

* * *

They went straight back to camp from there. Blackwall found he couldn’t look at Mirevas. His heart was too full. Every time his eyes fell on her, he saw her twisted and bleeding again, and he started to break down. As soon as they got back to camp, he made a beeline for his tent.

It was ridiculous to think that he could ever stay away from her, not of his own will. He had always been a weak man, and nothing had changed. He’d tried, oh, he’d tried, but only flimsy canvas walls stood between him and Mirevas right now, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from running to her, from falling to his knees and begging for even the smallest scraps of her affection.

He was trying so hard to do the right thing. But deceiving her, avoiding her, rejecting her -- could this truly be what was best? Every time a lie passed his lips, he felt in his bones what a snake he really was. And now he knew that he couldn’t keep pushing her away. He could never have the willpower to keep it up.

And then he realized. Lying and avoiding her wasn’t the right thing to do.

Telling her the truth was.

Could he do it? Could he look her in the eyes and tell her who he truly was? Could he speak the name “Thom Rainier” and watch those eyes turn from trust to revulsion?

He could. He would have to. It couldn’t be any harder than keeping up the lie, than holding her at arm’s length when all he wanted was to… was to…

He would tell her the truth.

It would be the end of everything between them. He was under no illusions to the contrary. But he’d always known that Mirevas did not belong with Thom Rainier. She deserved better than him, and she deserved to know why that was.

It was the best he could do.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Thom Rainier stood on the spot where he’d watched Warden Blackwall die. The unrelenting rain of the Storm Coast drizzled down on him. Only steps away, Mirevas stood, waiting for him to explain why he’d brought her here. Waiting for him to tell her the truth.

But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at...

“The Warden Constable’s badge,” he said.

Thom hadn’t expected to see it here. Hadn’t expected to find anything left of the battle they’d waged. Now, feeling the weight of it in his hand, he could see Blackwall’s face. He could hear the words Blackwall said as he lay dying.

_The men and women who have sinned the worst, committed the most terrible crimes -- they’re the ones who most deserve the chance at redemption. They’re the ones with the greatest need to atone. That’s why I chose you, Rainier. Your death can serve nothing. But your life… you could do a great deal with your life, Thom. Remember._

Mirevas’s voice cut into his memories. “You mean your badge.”

His badge.

This was what Blackwall wanted for him, wasn’t it? To start life over as a Warden? To make the world better through his actions?

Mirevas’s eyes were brimming with trust. How could it be right to betray that? Surely it was better for her to have a Warden, a good man, than to be left with the aftermath of a horrible lie. He was going to tear down the foundation of their relationship, and what would be left under her feet then?

He turned his eyes back to the badge.“Yes, I suppose it must be.”

_You could do a great deal with your life, Thom. Remember._

“After all, I did earn it. I shouldn’t have let it go so easily.”

It was wrong. Whatever he did, it was wrong.

Mirevas, Mirevas, oh, Mirevas. He loved her so much. She merely had to look at the world, and it changed. She had a heart so full, a conscience so clean, and the ability to move mountains if she wished it. He’d never stood a chance of resisting her.

“This was my life before I met you,” he said. “Endless battles. Crumbling ruins. Death.”

She stepped towards him, slowly, her heart in her eyes, and Thom couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

“You don’t have to face those things alone.”

He laughed, bitterly, mirthlessly. “Nothing frightens you, does it?”

He was a better man now, wasn’t he? By Andraste’s pyre, would it be so horrible for him to be happy? To make her happy?

Of course it would. It was a lie. She would be loving someone who didn’t exist.

“There’s nothing more for me here. But we can talk back at Skyhold, and I--I have to think.”

* * *

Blackwall sat at the tavern bar, hunched over a mug of ale. He couldn’t stay away anymore. Mirevas filled his every thought. How a tiny body like hers could hold so much light and hope inside, he would never know. He hadn’t believed anyone like her could exist.

He knocked back the last of his drink and signalled the bartender for another.

“You love her,” a voice said.

Blackwall started. Varric was sitting on the stool next to him. Blackwall hadn’t even noticed him come in.

“It doesn’t matter,” Blackwall said, turning his eyes to his new drink. A bottomless well, it seemed, one he was doing his damnedest to get lost in.

“It matters. She loves you, too.”

“You said that once before.” That didn’t matter either. How could she love him when she didn’t know who he was?

But it did matter, oh, it did. More than anything. If Mirevas loved him, it changed everything. Mirevas’s feelings were the center of the world.

Varric spread his hands. “And yet here you are. Getting drunk in a tavern when you could be with her.”

Damned perceptive dwarf. His insight grated on Blackwall like sandpaper. “Did you have a point?” he growled.

Varric raised one eyebrow. “Of course I have a point. I’m tired of watching the two of you mope around. Come on.”

The dwarf stood and crossed his arms, waiting.

Blackwall hesitated a moment, then pushed off the stool unsteadily. “Where are we going?”

“To her quarters. I’m picking the lock and letting you in. I owe her Inquisitorialness a favor, and this one will be a doozy.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Blackwall should have said no. But he always was weak.

He waited on the balcony, his hands sweating, his heart pounding. All the alcohol had long since evaporated from his system. Maker, what was he doing? Even if he wasn’t a criminal, a traitor, what could Mirevas see when she looked at him? An old man, probably twice her age. Big, hairy, and a human to boot. Surely not what a beautiful young elf hoped for in a lover.

The door clicked open, and footsteps padded up the stairs.

Blackwall’s heart stopped beating.

He had to do this. He loved her so much. He loved being the person he was in her eyes. And maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could make himself into the man she believed he was. If anyone could inspire such a change, it was her.

He stepped into her view.

She was pacing, her brow creased with frustration. Then she looked up, and her eyes met his. The world disappeared. Her lips parted, and the emotion in her eyes made him dizzy.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Her voice was husky.

Maker, what to say? He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. His body was moving toward her of its own volition, and he couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to stop it. “I wanted to thank you for accompanying me to that ruin. I wanted to --”

He was mere inches from her now. Blackwall sighed, leaned his head towards her, and let go of the last of his control, the ragged words coming out in a rush of breath. “I just had to see you.”

Before he could even think, Mirevas had tilted her head up to meet his lips with her own, and then they were kissing, and it was glorious. Blackwall could feel nothing but her mouth moving with his. He’d fantasized about this over and over, but what were fantasies? Thoughts that could dissipate in a moment. This was real, solid, true. He could never have imagined the little sound she made in the back of her throat, or the way she leaned into him, so warm, so trusting --

So trusting. Thom, what have you done?

“No.” He broke away from her embrace, shaking his head, trying to clear away the haze of her kiss and failing miserably. “This is wrong. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong.”

Oh, Andraste, there was no way he could have ever resisted this woman. One last try. One last opportunity for her to leave. “I want to give in. Maker knows how much I wish I could.” His voice was shaking. “I’m not what you think. I could never be what you deserve.”

“You’re wrong.” Her eyes were shining with so much compassion, so much soul. “You’re a good man.”

He wanted to believe her. “Am I?”

“I see it.”

She saw it. She saw it, with those eyes that saw everything.

He had to force out his words. They came rough from his throat.  “There’s nothing I can offer you. You’d have no life with me. But I --”

Damn it.

“I need you to end this, because I can’t.”

Her eyes took on a hard edge. “I’m not letting you go.”

Blackwall couldn’t fight his need for her anymore. The last shreds of his willpower were scattered to the winds. “We’ll regret this, my lady,” he said, even as he moved closer.

She looked at him, so beautiful, so innocent. Then she stood on her tiptoes to lay one soft, brief kiss on his lips. It lasted barely a second.

The whole world was in that kiss.

“Do you regret that?” she whispered.

No. Yes. _No_. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t hold back.

He claimed her lips savagely and moaned when she answered with equal passion. She overwhelmed him. Her scent, her skin, her softness. Mirevas.

Blackwall guided her backwards until they hit the railing by the stairs. Her hands fumbled at his clothing, and a shock of electricity went through him. He hadn’t thought she’d want to move this fast.

“Wait,” he murmured against her lips. “We can’t. There could be a child.” With their constant use of healing potions, disease was unlikely, but pregnancy...

“I’m taking something.” Mirevas didn’t break the kiss either. “Just in case. I didn’t know if you would… but I was hoping, maybe someday…”

She moved her hands up to tangle her fingers in his hair, and Blackwall couldn’t speak anymore. She was so eager. Her hands held his head hard as she sucked his bottom lip, and he growled, deep in his throat.

He’d thought the first time would be slow. He’d imagined lingering kisses as he worshipped her body at leisure. But now, in the moment, fast was perfect. She kissed him like a fire was burning through her, and it was infectious. He was burning, too.

He needed her clothes off. He needed to see her body, to touch her lush skin. He fumbled for the fastenings at the front of her tunic, but his fingers slipped. Damn this cursed shirt. Why did there have to be hundreds of those fucking little clasps?

With a gasp, Mirevas broke the kiss, pulling her arms away. At first Blackwall thought she was stopping, and he was sure he would explode, but then she reached for the front of her tunic, and with one sharp move, she ripped the damned thing open.

With a moan, Blackwall gathered her back into his arms, and somehow the two of them managed to tug her arms out of her sleeves and drop the tunic on the stairs without letting go of each other. Her bra band got the same treatment. Blackwall’s lips nibbled along Mirevas’s jawline, down her neck. He was afraid she would pull away at the scratching of his beard, but she near growled, grabbing the front of his padded shirt and tugging him closer.

“My lady…”

He needed to see her. He _needed_ it. He pulled back slowly and drank in the sight of her.

She was breathtaking. Tiny and beautiful, all beige skin and delicious curves. Her breasts were large and heavy, the rosy tips hard, just begging to be kissed. Fuck, he’d never touched anything as perfect as her in his entire life.

He gave in to temptation. One arm snaked behind her for support, and he leaned her back, bending forward to lower his lips to a nipple. At the first touch, she cried out.

He paused. “Is this okay, my lady?”

“If you fucking stop -- I’m going to kill you.”

Mirevas never swore. The words went straight to his groin, and he growled again, lowering his head to her breast, sucking her flesh into his mouth. Mirevas let out helpless little noises that drove him mad.

When he turned to the other breast, it was with delicate attentions, lapping lightly at the hard nub. Mirevas squeaked in frustration (she squeaked, fuck, he didn’t know squeaking could be so bloody hot).

His fingers scrabbled at the waistline of her breeches. Mirevas helped, and somehow the leggings came off. Sweet Maker. He reached between her legs, softly, his fingers dipping into her curls to find her hot and wet.

For the love of Andraste, he had to have her. Putting both hands on her hips, he hoisted her onto the railing, then wrapped his arms around her for support.

Mirevas took advantage of the change of position. Her lips found his neck, and she trailed kisses down his throat and back up again. Her fingers grabbed his breeches and tugged them down off his ass. His cock sprang free from the confines of the fabric.

Blackwall let out a desperate sound. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Can I --” he gasped. “Can I--”

She clung to him tightly. “Please.”

That one word was enough. Supporting her with one arm, he took himself in hand and guided his cock to her entrance, pushing inside her.

Mirevas cried out, her head falling back, and Blackwall hesitated. “Did I hurt you?”

“Please don’t stop,” she moaned.

He groaned, sliding himself all the way into her. Fuck, her sheath was so hot. He’d never felt anything so amazing, could never have imagined such bliss.

“My lady,” he whispered gruffly, and began to move.

With every thrust, Mirevas made a desperate noise, gripping him tighter. He could feel her fingers clawing at him through his padded shirt, and it drove him on, faster, harder.

When she bit his bottom lip, it was too much. His body exploded. Mirevas was everywhere. His cock pulsed, hard, waves of pleasure bombarding him. His seed pumped into her body.

She collapsed forward onto him. Blackwall’s knees were wobbly enough that he was afraid they might both topple over. He slid both arms around her and carried her to the bed, focusing hard with every step not to let his weak arms drop her. He set her down as carefully as he could, and she grabbed him, pulling him down gently on top of her.

Blackwall closed his eyes.

“I didn’t know it would be like that,” Mirevas whispered.

That got his attention. “Is it different with an elf?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

Blackwall froze.

“You’ve never -- not with anyone?”

It couldn’t be. He was a selfish bastard, taking her that way, her first time, fast and crude like she was a whore in an alleyway. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his own clothes.

Mirevas frowned and bit her lip. “Is that bad? Did I -- was it okay?”

“Was it okay?” She’d been wanton, passionate, incredible, and she asked if it was okay. “My lady, it was-- it was life-changing. I’ve never felt anything so wonderful.”

She blushed and tried to hide a smile.

“But --” He stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

Her brow creased. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It can, the first time. Especially if a woman isn’t… prepared for it. I wasn’t exactly gentle with you, my lady.”

“I didn’t know it was supposed to be gentle. I’ve wanted you for so long, I just -- I got carried away.”

_She_ got carried away. Blackwall turned his face away. He should have been slower, more careful. He hadn’t seen to her pleasure. He’d rutted with her like an animal.

He would make it up to her. “Do you have a cloth somewhere?”

Mirevas frowned uncertainly, but pointed to a closed door. “In my washing-room.”

Blackwall disentangled himself from her. At her pout, he touched his thumb to her bottom lip. “I’ll be right back.”

In the washing-room, he cleaned himself up, then wet a cloth and brought it to Mirevas. She was half-sitting in bed, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I apologize, my lady,” Blackwall said. “I thought you might want to clean yourself before I start.”

Mirevas looked at him. “Start?”

“If you’ll let me. I’d like to give you your pleasure now.” Even saying the words made heat curl in his belly. He’d had his orgasm only minutes ago, but already his desire was returning. It must be Mirevas. He didn’t think it was possible to get enough of her.

Mirevas’s eyes were wide. “I thought I’d had pleasure already.”

His voice was low, gruff. “I’d like to give you more.”

She bit her lip, but nodded. Her hands fell away from her chest, and Blackwall bit back a groan at the sight of her perfect tits. He wanted to touch them again, to ravage them.

Slow this time, he ordered himself. This is about her.

Blackwall held out the cloth, and Mirevas took it gingerly. Her cheeks turned red. He recognized her embarrassment and sat on the bed next to her, turning his head away. He was aware of a shuffle of movement next to him, and then soft fingers touched his shoulder.

He turned back. Mirevas was watching him, her eyes dark with passion, but her shoulders slightly hunched. Nervous?

“My lady, if you don’t want to do this, we can stop.” He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he would never take her without one hundred percent willingness. He would never risk hurting her that way, never.

“No, please, I don’t want to stop.” Her hands reached for him, resting hesitantly on his still-clothed chest. “I just don’t know what to expect.”

“I’ll go slow. If I do anything you don’t like, tell me, and I will stop.”

She looked into his eyes. “I trust you, Blackwall.”

_I trust you_. Blackwall closed his eyes. He was a villain.

Mirevas’s hands began to slide down his chest. They reached for the bottom of his shirt and slipped underneath, fingers splaying against the skin of his belly. He couldn’t hold back a moan.

He couldn’t hold back anything when it came to her.

“May I kiss you, my lady?” he whispered.

In response, he felt her lips touch his, feather light and oh so sweet.

Blackwall cupped her cheek in his hand, deepening the kiss. He let his tongue slide along her bottom lip and was rewarded when she opened her mouth, her own tongue finding his. His cock stirred.

Mirevas tugged at the hem of his shirt, and she broke the kiss to say, “Can I--”

Blackwall drew back, his hands fumbling with his belt. A moment later it was off, and Mirevas was tugging his shirt up and off over his head.

“Oh,” she said.

Blackwall tried hard not to feel self-conscious with Mirevas’s eyes on him, especially given the way he’d ogled her, but he felt the scorching heat of her gaze. He was keenly aware of the pelt of hair covering him, the slight belly that no amount of exercise seemed to eliminate.

Her hand came up to rest right over his heart.

“You’re so fuzzy.”

His cheeks burned. “Yes, all right, you’ve had your joke.” He wished he could put his shirt back on and hide from those burning eyes. Her body was perfect and supple, and his was -- not. Old and hairy and not at all what a gorgeous creature like Mirevas deserved. Before he even thought about it, he found himself asking the question he’d been avoiding since he met her. “How old are you, my lady?”

She hesitated. “I’m twenty.”

Twenty. Maker’s balls.

“Blackwall?”

“I’m going straight to the Void,” Blackwall groaned, and kissed her.

Mirevas moaned. Her hands reached for his breeches, and he helped her slide them off. Immediately, she drew back again to look at him. All of him.

Blackwall turned his face away. “My lady --”

He felt fingertips on his skin, running over shoulders, his chest. Her palms flattened against him as her hands continued their journey down his stomach. They hesitated near his hips, then slid smoothly down his thighs.

Blackwall looked at his lady again. She was watching his body, and her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded. Her breathing was heavy.

“Blackwall,” she said, and the want in her voice made him shudder. “I need you.”

He pulled her close, laying gentle kisses along her neck. She gasped, head falling back, and Blackwall slipped an arm behind her to support her nearly boneless body. His other hand came up, cupping a gorgeous breast, his thumb gently teasing her nipple. Mirevas was panting, shivering.

“Blackwall…”

He let his mouth trail lower, his tongue tracing a slow, lazy line down her chest. His lips claimed her other breast, and Mirevas clutched at his hair, holding him close. His tongue flicked the hard nub sharply, then soothed it.

“Blackwall, Blackwall…”

It was torture to tear his mouth away from such luscious flesh, but he had far more in store, and judging by Mirevas’s gasps, she wasn’t going to put up with this teasing for long. He released her nipple and laid her gently down on the bed so he could continue kissing a path down her body, over the taut muscles of her stomach, then down even lower. His tongue dipped between her netherlips.

Mirevas cried out.

Fuck, that might be the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Eager to elicit more of those noises, Blackwall licked her again, then again, pressing his tongue deep within her folds to find the sensitive nub hidden within. Mirevas squeaked when he found it. Maker’s bloody balls, that squeak, that fucking squeak. Only Mirevas could make squeaking so fucking sexy. He had meant to go slower, to draw out her pleasure, but he couldn’t resist the noises she made. He attacked her clit, sucking, licking, flicking. Mirevas flailed on the bed, her hands clutching the covers, her hips bucking against his mouth. She tasted so good. He was hard as a rock again.

Without warning, Mirevas arched her back, her entire body going taut. Blackwall sucked on her, hard, and she near screamed, her body jerking under his mouth. He didn’t stop, his tongue flicking at her nub, licking hard as he sucked her, not relenting until her hands grabbed his hair and yanked him away.

“By the Dread Wolf,” Mirevas said, and dragged him up to her, claiming his lips passionately.

Blackwall pressed his cock against her leg, trying to relieve some of his tension as he plundered her mouth.

She sighed. “I want you now. Can we…”

He buried his face in her neck. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

“I know the feeling.” Mirevas’s voice was rough.

When he slid inside her for the second time, it was slower. He took the time to savor every inch of her. Her body was quivering beneath him. Her fingers stroked his chest hair, sending shivers through him.

She made the most beautiful sounds. Moans, whimpers, and yes, those little squeaks. Dear Maker above, she was perfect.

“Mirevas,” he moaned.

At that, she shuddered beneath him. Her head fell back as tremors overtook her body. Blackwall held her, still moving, still thrusting, trying to prolong her pleasure for as long as possible, and holding on desperately to the last threads of his own control.

Mirevas sighed. Her arms wrapped tight around him, and she pressed her lips to his ear. “I love you,” she whispered.

That was all it took. Blackwall’s release hit him, gentler waves this time, spreading over him, filling his body. Mirevas clung to him, caressed him, as the pleasure took him.

When it was done, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

Once they’d cleaned themselves up again, they clambered back into the bed. Mirevas didn’t seem able to stop smiling.

“Was that more like what you expected?”

Mirevas hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“No?” He wondered what she did expect. Surely not a man twice her age and covered with fur. A -- what was that word? -- a _shemlen_. “You didn’t think it would be with someone like me?”

She shook her head. “That’s not it. I didn’t think it would ever happen. At all.”

He gaped. “What?”

Mirevas shrugged and looked away. “I thought I’d just be lucky for anyone to want me.”

How could anyone not want Mirevas? Surely no one could look at those piercing eyes and not want to look at them forever. It was impossible to gaze at this woman with her unearthly beauty and not want to touch her, to hold her, to…

Then the secondary meaning of her words hit him. If she never thought anyone would want her, then she wasn’t waiting out of choice, looking for a special person, for love. She was just waiting for… anyone.

He could have been anyone.

Well, and what did he expect? That a beautiful woman like Mirevas would choose him if she thought she could have someone else?

“Oh,” he said.

Mirevas lifted her head. “What’s wrong?”

He wanted to disappear. “I’m sorry you… didn’t feel you had more choices.”

Her brow creased, and she studied him. “There was only one choice I wanted. And he’s here with me now.”

Blackwall wanted to believe her. He wanted to be the one person who could make her happy. But doubts kept whispering in his head.

Mirevas’s lips on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. “I can’t believe you’re here with me.” She sighed and snuggled closer. “In my wildest dreams, I never thought I’d find you. I never thought --” She paused, then hurried through the next words. “I never believed someone like you could exist. Hard as steel against injustice, but so soft and sweet inside. Full of compassion, always looking for a way to make the world better. And so kind to me. You understand me, because you’re like me. You’ve been alone, and you were lonely, just like I was.” Her fingers played with his chest hair, sending a thrill through him. “And now we have each other. We don’t have to be alone anymore.” Softly, she kissed his chest. “Emma lath.”

That was how she saw him? It seemed impossible.

“I love you, my lady.”

He could feel her smile against his skin. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” He’d say it forever if she wanted him to.

Mirevas hummed in contentment. “It’s nice to hear you say it when I’m not frozen through and barely conscious.”

Ah. “The time in the mountains.” When he’d held her cold body, trying to will the warmth back into it. Those words were a moment of weakness he could never manage to regret.

Mirevas was silent for a moment before speaking. “If I hadn’t had that memory, I don’t know what would have gotten me through what came after. When you --” She stopped.

“Oh, my lady.” Blackwall heaved a shuddering breath. He never should have tried to push her away. That he’d caused her even a moment’s pain was unbearable. “I’m so sorry.”

Mirevas kissed his collarbone lightly. “Just don’t do it again.”

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Now that he’d come to her, he couldn’t abandon her. She didn’t deserve to suffer in that way. He would be hers for as long as she wanted him. The thought should have made him happy, but he found the guilt returning. That he couldn’t leave now did not mean he belonged with her. If he were the man she thought he was, he would have stayed away from the very beginning. Never trained her with the sword and shield, never allowed her to grow attached to him. Then there would be no pain to worry about, save for his own. He had no right to her, and he knew it.

“Blackwall.”

The name startled him, and he looked at Mirevas. She was watching him with stormy eyes.

“Don’t,” she said. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Let yourself be happy for once. Let me be happy, too.”

“Yes,” he said. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make her happy. “As you wish, my lady.”

She gazed at him suspiciously for a moment longer, then relaxed back into his embrace.

“You’re all I want,” she said. “With you here, the rest of it seems insignificant. A darkspawn magister that can’t be killed? An archdemon at his command? As long as I can come back here to you, I can face anything.’

Blackwall’s heart swelled. It was an honor he could never deserve, to be the driving force at her back. But he would do whatever he could to be worthy of it.

They didn’t speak after that. Blackwall held Mirevas in his arms, her head on his chest, until they both fell into slumber.

\----------

The bright sun against Blackwall’s eyelids awakened him. At first he was disoriented, uncertain where he was. Then Mirevas stirred next to him, and the memories came flooding back.

Mirevas. He was in her quarters, and she loved him. She was his. He was hers. She’d made love to him, entrusted him with her body and her heart.

She loved him.

“Go back to sleep,” Mirevas groaned.

She was so lovely. The sun glowed warm on her tawny skin and gleamed on her black hair. Somehow, in the morning light, the reality of the whole thing hit him. He wasn’t dreaming her as he had so many times before. This morning, he’d woken to find Mirevas still beside him. She was here. She’d chosen him.

“Sleep, Blackwall,” she repeated.

“I don’t think I can.” Not with her next to him looking like a slumbering goddess.

Mirevas opened one eye groggily. “That’s not fair. If you’re not sleeping, I can’t, either.”

“Why not?”

She yawned and put her arms around him. “Because it means I’m missing time with you.”

He chuckled at that, low in his throat, and leaned in to steal a kiss. Just one kiss, just a little one… well, maybe one more… another kiss couldn’t hurt, surely…

Mirevas laughed but didn’t pull away. “You seem happy this morning,” she said between kisses.

“I’ve got you beside me.” He cupped her head in his hand and drew her closer. “I could take on the world.”

“Mmm… speaking of the world, I think I may be late for a war council meeting.”

Blackwall ignored the comment, choosing instead to move his kisses to her jawline, slowly, teasing. One hand slid slowly up her side, coming to rest just beside her breast.

Mirevas exhaled and pressed her body against him. “They can have one war council without me,” she said decidedly.

Blackwall agreed.

\----------

They were setting out for the Forbidden Oasis that day. Standing near the gates with Solas and Varric, Blackwall suddenly realized that he didn’t know what to expect. Mirevas was the Inquisitor. There were plenty of reasons to keep any romantic entanglements on her part quiet.

When Mirevas arrived, would she act as though nothing had happened between them?

Well, that was logical. And yet, the thought of having to stifle his feelings, hide his attachment, while Mirevas looked at him as if he were just another soldier under her command…

It didn’t matter, he told himself. As long as he got to be with her, the rest was unimportant. They loved each other, and it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

Surreptitiously, Blackwall glanced at his companions, wondering what they knew. Varric certainly would have guessed what had happened, but had he been told? Had Solas?

Solas was studiously avoiding Blackwall’s eyes, and Varric was looking casually up at the sky.

At that moment, Mirevas appeared, striding through the courtyard towards them. Blackwall let out a breath, taken as he always was by her magnificent beauty. But it was different now. He knew all her curves, knew the true extent of her loveliness. More than that, he had touched her soul last night. As she neared them, he could see the dreamy cast to her eyes and the sweet half-smile on her lips. She was more beautiful than she had ever been before.

Varric coughed.

Mirevas’s eyes focused on them, taking in their silence and the awkward avoidance of eye contact. Her gait momentarily slowed.

Then she straightened and walked determinedly to Blackwall. Without pausing, she took his face in her hands, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him so passionately it knocked the breath out of him.

Then she stepped back and gave all three of them significant looks, each in turn.

“That’s out of the way, then,” she said “Yes, Blackwall and I are together. Does anything else need to be said about that?”

Varric chuckled. “Um, congratulations?”

Mirevas’s stern facade cracked, and a smile broke through. She ducked her head, turning away towards the gate to hide it.

Varric slapped Blackwall on the back. “Good for you, Hero. I’m glad to see you both smiling.”

Blackwall looked at Mirevas’s back as she strode away and thought again how lucky he was. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep her happy,” he said.

“Good.” Varric fixed Blackwall with a dangerous stare. “Because if I hear about you hurting her, you just may find yourself with a crossbow bolt in your back.”

Blackwall didn’t scare easily, but at the glare Varric gave him, he could feel the blood leaving his face.

Solas crossed his arms. “Or inexplicably struck by lightning,” he added.  


	11. Chapter 11

Blackwall was happier than he’d ever been in his life. His days and nights were filled with Mirevas.

On the surface, not much had changed. They spent endless weeks trudging through the wilderness, closing rifts and fighting demons. Solas and Varric would be at their side, or Dorian and Cole, or whoever else Mirevas felt was best suited for the task at hand. Blackwall was the one person she almost never left behind.

But that was no different than before. No, the difference in their days was less tangible. It was the light in Mirevas’s eyes when she looked at him, the soft smile that stayed on her lips. It was an energy that permeated the air around them. No amount of teasing from Varric or Dorian could spoil Blackwall’s joy.

The nights, oh, the nights were glorious. Whether they were huddled together in their bedroll as the wind blew the canvas walls around them, or curled up in each other’s arms in Mirevas’s opulent bed, Blackwall didn’t care. He was with Mirevas. That was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, until Blackwall began to believe this happiness would never end.

\----------

The events of Adamant Fortress left Blackwall reeling. The Wardens’ betrayal hit him hard. Corypheus had taken them, honorable men and women who had devoted themselves to saving others, who were willing to sacrifice even their own lives, and twisted their noble calling into something evil and wrong.

They had done the right thing in the end, the Grey Wardens, and it was his words that inspired them. It seemed impossible, but it was true. His belief in the order was strong enough to light a fire in their hearts, to turn them back to the path of honor. And for that, he felt worthier than he ever had before, save for when he looked into Mirevas’s eyes.

The Fade was another ordeal. _You are nothing like a Grey Warden_ , the Nightmare had said, and Blackwall had turned cold. He was sure that Mirevas, that all of them, would see through him at that moment. But the Nightmare’s words had only spurred them on to greater anger. They believed in Blackwall. It hadn’t even occurred to them to doubt him.

His emotions were torn in so many directions, he didn’t know what to feel. Happiness was tainted with sorrow, relief overwhelmed by anger. He rejoiced to know Mirevas had such faith in him, but it was a bitter joy, tinged with regret. He was lying to her; he did not deserve her faith. Likewise, he was comforted to know the Wardens had seen the truth before the end, that Mirevas was able to salvage them. But when he thought of how they had been used, how they had been betrayed, he burned with fury inside. He despised Corypheus more than ever. The Grey Wardens had wanted to save the world, and that desire was twisted against them, turned to bloodshed and murder.

Would that happen to him, too? Didn’t a man deserve to pursue righteousness without it being corrupted?

He worked furiously on his griffon until he feared his passion would cause him to make a mistake. Then he threw his tools on the table and dropped into his chair, head falling forward.

Mirevas found him like that.

For a moment she stood there, observing him. Then she approached. Without saying a word, she sat on his lap and put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Blackwall slid his arms around her waist, and they stayed like that, not speaking, Mirevas’s presence a silent comfort to his aching heart.

  
  


\----------

Blackwall had thought, when he first met Mirevas, that she would never be at home at an expensive soiree. Well, she proved him wrong at the Winter Palace.

She didn’t play the Game, or at least not the way the nobility did. No, Mirevas treated everyone with the same polite, quiet regard she always showed. And despite being an elf, despite being entirely unlike them, she had them falling over themselves to win her regard.

He should have known Mirevas would be irresistible to the nobility, just as she was to everyone else.

Once upon a time, he would have spent the night in the ballroom, dancing with any pretty lady he could find, looking for one to warm his bed that night. He’d been charming back in the day. Smooth. Admirers had flocked to him, and he’d delighted in every moment of it.

If the man he’d been had met Mirevas tonight, he would have spent the evening trying to charm her. He would have wanted the pleasure of her body and the bragging rights of having seduced the Herald of Andraste. He would have followed her and flattered her, secure in the fact that he was irresistible.

And she would have seen right through him.

The man he was would never have caught Mirevas’s notice. She would have smiled and politely excused herself from Captain Rainier’s company. The thought made him glad. She loved the person he was now. He’d become someone she could give her heart to. That proved, more than anything else, that he was a new man. A better man.

Still, being back at the Winter Palace made him nervous. With his beard and Inquisition uniform, he was unlikely to be recognized, but all the same, he avoided the ballroom and the throngs of people. Best not to tempt fate. Besides, the games of the nobility sickened him. Civil words, civil smiles, but underneath it all, innocent lives were being traded and sacrificed.

Blackwall could no longer stomach it. He wanted nothing to do with their Game.

From his position out of the way in the Hall of Heroes, he surreptitiously overheard many conversations, and he passed along the information every time Mirevas stopped to speak to him. Which was often, thank the Maker. He needed the sight of her face to get him through this trial. He would share what he’d learned and then steal a kiss, reveling in her blissful smile before she disappeared back into the intrigue of the Court.

They made it through safely. The assassin was arrested, the empress saved. Lovers reunited, even. And with the fate of the nation secure, Blackwall claimed a dance from his love. She all but glowed with happiness in his arms, and he knew, once again, that he was the luckiest man in all Thedas.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Mirevas came back to her quarters one night with stormy eyes, and Blackwall’s heart sank. Mirevas only had that look when she’d gotten disastrous news.

“What’s happened?” Blackwall asked.

She slumped onto the sofa next to him. “The dragon in the Western Approach. The one the researcher wanted us to bait. The one we’ve been avoiding every time we’re in the area.”

“Because we don’t want to be charred to death, yes, I remember it. What’s happened, my lady?”

She looked away. “It’s destroyed three of our camps.”

Blackwall drew in a breath. “How many dead?” he asked quietly.

“Thirty.”

He cursed.

“We can’t hold the area with that dragon threatening it. Cullen wants to send troops.”

“It’s not a bad idea, my lady.”

“And how many of them will we lose?”

Blackwall shook his head. “Your men are soldiers. This is what they signed up for.”

“That doesn’t mean their lives are expendable,” Mirevas said sharply, then exhaled. “I’m sorry. I understand what you’re saying. But a troop of soldiers is too large a target. The dragon will take down their numbers before they can blink. It’s a waste of life, even if they win. A smaller group, on the other hand, maybe three or four fighters with specialized experience --”

“We could get in closer, dodge attacks more easily.” He nodded slowly. Mirevas always did have the best battle instincts. “Yes, I see what you’re saying.”

“Not we,” Mirevas said, setting her jaw. “Not you.”

Blackwall blinked in surprise. “You plan to leave me behind?”

She fidgeted. “Iron Bull really wants to kill a dragon.”

Anger flared in Blackwall’s gut. “That’s not why, and we both know it. Surely you don’t think I’m letting you go off to battle a high dragon without me.”

Mirevas glared. “The last time I checked, it wasn’t up to you to ‘let’ me do anything.”

Blackwall took a breath. He needed to be rational to win this argument. “That’s true,” he conceded. “I can’t control your actions, and I don’t want to. But don’t think the same doesn’t go for you, my lady. You don’t intend to let me fight this dragon, but I care about the safety of our people as much as you do.” He stroked her cheek softly. “You’re trying to keep me safe. I see that, and I love you for it. But I’m just as determined to protect you.”

Mirevas clenched her teeth and turned away. “Fine, then!” She waved a hand at him in frustration. “Throw yourself in danger. See if I care!”

He ignored her anger and rested his head on her shoulder. His arms slid around her waist. “I know you do care, very much. But I’m not reckless any more than you are. This is a threat we can handle. You know it, or you wouldn’t suggest it in the first place.”

Her body tensed, and then deflated. “You’re right.” She turned back to face him, her arms coming up around his neck protectively. “It’s just -- it’s a dragon. Rifts and red templars -- I’m used to that. I get a little crazy at the idea of a giant monster shooting flames at you.”

Her phrasing made him chuckle. “We’re both in danger every day, my lady.”

Mirevas drew her arms a little tighter around him. “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

* * *

The dragon screeched above them, circling threateningly. Adrenaline was pumping through Blackwall’s veins. At his side, Mirevas was tense.

“Solas, Varric, you spread out, keep your distance, and stay out of her line of sight,” she barked. “Blackwall, you and I will go for the legs. Cripple her, and when she falls, strike out at her head. From behind, if you can.”

“Aye, my lady.”

They all knew their orders. They’d gone over and over the battle plan, mapping out every contingency they could think of before Mirevas would even consider leaving Skyhold’s walls. But Blackwall knew that Mirevas took a certain comfort in repeating them now. Saying the words out loud solidified them, made the plan feel real, the battle manageable.

The dragon landed before them, shrieking.

“Duck!” shouted Mirevas, just as the dragon let out a barrage of fire.

Blackwall hurled himself to the right, falling into a roll. The fire burned just above him, and he smelled the singed fabric of his tunic. He let the roll continue, suffocating any flames that might have taken hold, and then slid into a crouch.

“Attack!”

Blackwall wasted no time. He shot forward, dodging the beast’s teeth, and sank his blade into the flesh of the dragon’s right leg.

It screamed.

“Blackwall!”

His shield was up even before the attack came. The dragon blasted fire at him. He felt the scorching heat, but the flames bounced harmlessly off the metal shield and dissipated in the desert air.

Mirevas took advantage of the distraction, slashing at the beast’s rear flank. With a roar, the dragon lifted its back leg and struck out, knocking her to the ground.

And so it went, back and forth, Blackwall and Mirevas dodging the dragon’s attacks while getting in blows wherever they could. From a distance, Varric and Solas did their part to weaken it.

It wasn’t going well. The dragon was taking injuries, but so was Mirevas. Her armor was dented, and Blackwall could see blood dripping from beneath her helmet. She swayed on her feet.

“Call the retreat!” Blackwall cried.

The dragon chose that moment to strike. Its front leg slammed into Mirevas, and she toppled backwards. Her body twitched on the ground, but she didn’t get up.

Blackwall’s heart stopped.

The dragon turned its head, ready to spew fire, and Blackwall moved. The action was instinctive, involuntary. He threw himself between Mirevas and the beast’s gaping maw, and with one swift strike, drove his sword hard into the dragon’s eye.

Flames engulfed him. There was nothing but searing pain, and then everything went black.

* * *

“Blackwall? Blackwall!”

Blackwall floated slowly back to the surface from the bottom of a deep ocean. The world swirled, dark and deep. In the distance, he heard Mirevas’s voice, and he pushed toward the sound.

“Open your eyes. Please, Blackwall.”

He couldn’t disobey her. Blackwall fought for control of his body, and after a few moments, he managed to squint his eyes open.

“By the Dread Wolf.” Mirevas flung her arms around him, and Blackwall did his best not to cringe in pain.

“Sorry,” she said, disentangling herself from him, “sorry. Solas, is he all right?”

“He’ll be fine with a few weeks’ rest. The worst of the burns are healed.”

Mirevas smiled down at him, a glorious smile.

Memories of where they were trickled back to him, and he started. “The dragon --”

“You killed her,” Mirevas said. “Your sword right through her eye. She tried to take you with her, but you were too strong.” She laughed. Laughter was rare for Mirevas, and the sound went straight to his heart. “A high dragon is no match for my knight.”

“You’re flattering me.” Blackwall tested his muscles, then slowly sat up.

“I don’t need to.” She kissed him, one peck on the lips, then two, then three. Her kisses were more dizzying than any dragon’s blow. “My lover, the dragon-slayer. A true champion.”

He looked away. “I’m not a champion.”

“No? How many lives have you saved, do you think? How many people would that dragon have killed if you hadn’t taken her out? How many men do you think can say they’ve affected so many people’s lives?”

Her words were even more dizzying than her kisses. Perhaps he needed to lie back down.

Mirevas slid her arms around him, laying her cheek against his. “You are a hero, my love. A savior. The world is so much better for having you in it.”

Maker help him, but he was starting to believe it. She had the power to make a man believe the impossible.

* * *

Of course he got the news the next day.

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Ah, you’re here.”

Blackwall turned from the griffon he was carving to see Leliana standing in the entrance to the stables, the light from behind making her a silhouette against the sun.

“Sister Leliana. To what do I owe this visit?”

She stepped forward into the darkness of the barn. “There was something I thought you might wish to see,” she said. “Perhaps it is of interest to you.”

She handed him a single sheet of paper.

Confused, Blackwall peered at the writing.

_Lieutenant Cyril Mornay, one of the soldiers responsible for the Callier Massacre of 9:37, was captured in Lydes…_

No.

He looked up. “Why are you…”

His voice trailed off. Leliana was gone.

Blackwall looked back down at the paper, then crumpled it in his fist.

* * *

He stood in front of the fire, staring unseeing into the dancing flames. Was he a better man or wasn’t he? That was what it boiled down to, really, wasn’t it? He was either a coward, about to let another man die for his crimes, or a hero. No, not a hero. Never a hero. But the man Blackwall had wanted him to be. A man who did what was right.

He could never be a good man. He knew that now. For all his hoping, all his trying, he would always be Thom Rainier, the man responsible for the butchering of an innocent family. He never should have thought he could escape that.

He’d hoped to die a hero. An absurd dream. He would die a criminal, hanged in front of the shouting masses, just as he deserved.

Blackwall touched his throat. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a rope tight around it? How would it feel to have your neck snap as wooden planks gave way beneath you?

No. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t think of it again. He wouldn’t let the details insinuate their way into his head until he’d confessed everything. Until it was too late to change his mind.

Thom Rainier would die. He’d already stolen more time than was his right. Death was not such a terrible fate. He thought he could face it bravely... if it weren’t for Mirevas.

Mirevas. His lady. A part of him had known he would fall in love with her from the first time he met her. He should have recognized that. He should never have joined the Inquisition. But of course it was that part of him, the part that understood what she would come to mean to him, that had driven him to volunteer. Because he was a fool and a wretch who always took what he didn’t deserve.

He heard footsteps approaching, and without turning, he knew it was her. Her presence filled the air with electricity and made the hairs on his arms prickle. She didn’t say a word, and he didn’t look at her.

“Want a drink?” he said finally. “I’ve a hankering for company.”

* * *

“For now, let there be nothing else. No one else. Just you and me.”

He had one night. One night to show her everything she meant to him.

He took her slowly, tenderly, trying to memorize every part of her. He would need the memories of this night later, to fill his mind as he waited for death in a cramped cell. He could carry them in his mind as the noose slipped around his neck, as the final moment came.

_No. Don’t spoil this moment with your fears_.

He was desperate for her, but he kept it gentle. He wanted to remember this last time not as lust, not as physical, but as a joining of souls.

And it was, Maker, it was. When she cried out with her orgasm, when her body shook with her pleasure, he thought he’d found the Golden City itself. A moment later, he joined her, his hands clutching at her tightly, wishing he never had to let her go.

She curled up to him after, her fingers running through his chest hair, an act that never failed to send shivers through him.

“Mirevas,” he said.

She started at the sound of her name and lifted her head.

“Mirevas,” he said again, tasting the syllables as they fell from his lips. Why did he never say her name save for moments of passion? If only he had a future with her, he would say it every day, every hour, just to remind himself that she was real. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Blackwall.”

He closed his eyes. He would be Blackwall tonight for the last time.

“Please, let me say this.”

Silence. She was listening.

“You -- you’ve changed my life. You’ve shown me what it means to live as truly righteous. It’s because of you that I can face -- I can face -- monsters of all kinds. You’ve taught me that simply by being the person you are.

“But it’s more than that.” His voice was shaking, but he pressed on “I never thought I’d be loved, Mirevas. You looked at this crumbling old ruin of a soldier and saw something worthy inside, something worth giving your heart to. You can’t know what that means to a man who thought he would live out his days alone. And I need you to know. Because if there’s anything good in me, it comes from you.”

He opened his eyes. Mirevas was watching him, her face full of compassion.

“There are some things I need you to know, too,” she said.

“I will always listen to you, my lady.”

“I want you to know that I do understand. I’ve been alone, too, for my entire life. You’re the only person to make me feel loved since my parents died. And that means more than I can say.”

“I don’t know how--”

She stopped him with a finger on his lips. “My turn.”

Blackwall nodded.

“You were a good man when I met you. I saw it right away, and I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. If you can’t see your worth, then I will see it for you.” Her eyes shone with love. “You are the most important person in all the world to me, and I will stand by you through anything.”

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it. _Through anything_ , she said. She was ready to support him through any kind of horror.

Was telling her now the right thing to do? Could she love him, even through all the lies, all of his past?

In that moment, he believed she could. The confession was on his lips.

“I love you, Warden Blackwall.”

Her words hit him like a bucket of cold water. Yes, of course, she loved Warden Blackwall. Not him. She might stand by Blackwall through anything, but what tie did she have to Thom Rainier?

No, he must keep this silence.

He swallowed his secret and kissed her again. It was the last night. His last chance to hold the fantasy, and he would cherish every moment.

* * *

He waited for her to fall asleep before he left her. The temptation to stay at her side was so strong, but if he didn’t leave now, he might never manage it.

Every movement he made was a step closer to his doom. Step into his breeches. Pull on his shirt. Buckle his boots.

Being closer to death wasn’t the problem. Closer to leaving Mirevas, that was agony. Every instinct in his body was screaming not to desert her. He had the Golden City right here, and he was walking into the Void. It was unbearable.

But he would bear it.

He wrote her a note. He didn’t realize he was crying until a tear dripped onto the paper, smudging a word. It was still legible. He folded the sheet quickly.

Before he left, he couldn’t resist looking at her one last time. He didn’t have to go. He could lie down next to her and draw her into his arms. She would never know. She already loved a lie, what was one more deceit?

And what of her pain when she found him gone? She’d been so alone and unloved. Now that she’d found solace, even if it was with a fiction, how much would she suffer to have it ripped from her? Surely staying with the woman who would save the world, saving her from unbearable heartbreak was the right thing to do?

“I love you, my lady. Mirevas.”

He left quickly, not trusting himself to tarry one moment longer.

His heart was bleeding as he tore through Skyhold. He told the guards at the gate that the Inquisitor had sent him on an important mission. They let him go. They had no reason not to.

And then it was over, and he was gone.

Blackwall was dead. He was Thom Rainier now.


	14. Chapter 14

The sight of Mornay’s face shocked Thom. The man was older, gaunter. He had suffered too much, and it showed on his face, in his bones.

No more.

Thom scanned the crowd, looking at the faces that would see his confession. Would they mob him, kill him now? They might. Thom was ready if they did.

A familiar face jumped out of the throng. Bronze skin, Dalish tattoos.

No.

Damn it, she couldn’t be here. His heart pounded in his ears. He’d been ready to do this. Ready to die, painfully if necessary. He wouldn’t let anyone else pay for his crime. But for Mirevas to see it, to know what he was… no, he could never be ready for that.

But his time had run out. The noose was around Mornay’s neck.

“Stop!”

Gathering all his courage, Thom stepped onto the platform.

He couldn’t have told you afterward what he said. He protested Mornay’s innocence in a booming, authoritative voice. He didn’t think anyone knew he was shaking inside.

No, Mirevas surely knew. Her eyes saw everything.

“I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall.” Every word sliced like a knife in his heart, but he pushed through. His eyes locked on Mirevas’s. He was confessing for her now. “Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward” -- his voice broke -- “from who I really am.”

“You,” Mornay whispered. “After all this time.”

Thom looked at him, this man who had nearly died for his mistake. “It’s over. I’m done hiding.”

He squared his shoulders and faced Mirevas once again.

“I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier.”

Her face froze over, inscrutable. Thom wished he could read her, have some idea of her reaction, but it was impossible. And on a second thought, he was glad of it. He didn’t want to see the hate on her face. He thought it might kill him.

He went with the soldiers without them even laying a hand on him.

\---------

When Mirevas appeared in the prison, he thought he was dreaming. She shone like a spirit, all in white and silver armor. Then it hit him. She was really here. She’d come to see him. She hadn’t left him to rot.

No, that was wrong. She wasn’t here to rescue him, couldn’t be. She must want answers.

He had never seen her so upset. She’d faced red templars, demons, giants, dragons, and she handled them all with calm authority. There was no calm now. Her voice shook with unshed tears.

Later, her words would echo in his brain.

_Why did you lie to me?_

_You wanted me to think you’d left me? That you were dead, or worse? You’d break my heart and call it better?_

And worst, worst of all -- _There was truth to what we had, and there is good in you._

That last broke him completely because it gave him hope. And hope was impossible.

Before she left, she beckoned to him through the bars of his cage. Her expression was so cold, he thought she might hit him. He deserved that, so he stepped forward, preparing himself for a blow.

He got a blow, all right, but not the kind he expected. Mirevas grabbed him with two hands, yanked him to her, and pressed her lips hard against his. He hadn’t known a kiss could be violent, but this one was. Violent and desperate.

His hands came up and wrapped around hers where they gripped his shirt. He tried to deepen the kiss, playing at her lips with his tongue in hopes that she would open for him.

Instead, she released him and walked away without a backwards glance.

Thom slumped against the stone wall. It was over. The woman who made the sun shine and the world turn was gone, and he would never see her again.

\----------

Thom expected the abuse. He’d seen war. He knew how prisoners were treated. And war criminals like him, responsible for a massacre like his -- well, what he endured was far less than what he expected.

They didn’t feed him for days, gave him just enough water to keep him alive. He had no pot to piss or shit in, so he did it in the corner of the cell, and soon the stench and the flies made the little space barely livable. The guards didn’t care. They stayed down the hall, coming in only to make a punching bag out of him when they wanted some sport.

He took it. He never fought. He’d earned this.

\----------

The sound of the cell door creaking open woke Thom from a deep sleep. He squeezed his eyes shut. The guards were back again.

“Maker’s breath,” said a shocked voice.

He’d never heard that voice before. Thom opened his eyes and sat up. A man stood outside the open door of the cell, his hand over his nose, a pained expression on his face.

“Well, come on,” the man said. “We’re not going to wait around all day.”

Was he going to his execution? The man had daggers sheathed on his back and wore a scout’s hood. Not the guard he’d expect as an escort to his death.

“Who are you?” Thom asked.

The scout gritted his teeth. “I’m the man who’s about to save your life, if you’ll stop dallying and get out here already. This smell is going to make me retch.”

Thom hesitated. He was being rescued. It couldn’t be.

“I’m ready to pay for my crimes.”

“Listen. I don’t care how noble you want to be. I’m not going back to Sister Nightingale with the news that, so sorry, I can’t bring Blackwall back for judgement because he wants to sit in a pile of his own shit, thank you very much. Take it up with the Inquisitor if you have to, but you’re moving now.”

The Inquisitor. Mirevas.

Thom -- Blackwall -- stood and followed the scout out.

His world had turned upside down. He would see her again. Her silky black hair, her warm skin, her penetrating brown eyes…

She was saving him. His head reeled. She must have forgiven him. She still loved him.

Mirevas, Mirevas. He would see her again, hold her, kiss her. She wanted him, she’d forgiven him. She’d rescued him.

The truth hit him a moment later like a knife in the gut. _Don’t be a fool. She’s not going to let you touch her. She wants to pass judgement on you herself._

As soon as the thought occurred to him, he knew it was true. _Back for judgement_ , the scout had said. Thom had committed crimes against Mirevas and the Inquisition, just as much as he had against Orlais. It was only fitting that the woman he loved above all else, the one he’d shattered with his selfishness, be the one to sentence him.

Maybe she would even make the killing blow herself.


	15. Chapter 15

Soldiers hauled him, chained, into the Skyhold’s main hall. Mirevas sat before him, her expression dark. Blackwall’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. Nothing could be more terrifying than facing her judgement. Nobody could hurt him the way Mirevas could.

She watched him stoically, the same way she’d watched so many other prisoners, and he hung his head so he wouldn’t have to see it. Fear made him angry. She’d dragged him here to turn him into just another prisoner to judge. She’d taken him from the death he deserved, and for what? It wasn’t enough to be executed. She wanted to inflict the worst pain he could ever imagine. The shame of her judgement.

He risked a glance up at her. Moisture glistened in her eyes.

He couldn’t face it. Couldn’t deal with it. Always the coward, he lashed out before she could hurt him, accusing her of being a criminal no better than him for stealing him from his cell. As if she weren’t the bravest, kindest hero in Thedas. As if she didn’t hang the sun and moon and stars in the sky. But it was too much. He could face anyone’s judgement but hers.

When she spoke her decision, her words blindsided him. “You have your freedom,” she said simply.

His heart stopped beating.

* * *

Blackwall -- Thom -- he didn’t even know how to think of himself anymore -- didn’t know where to go after that, so he went back to his stables. He wanted to wait at Mirevas’s chamber door for her to come back, but as much as she forgave him, she might not want to see him right now. He wouldn’t want to see him if he were her.

Her words echoed in his ears. _You were ready to die, but I wasn’t ready to let you go. Your place is here with me._

He felt the ghost of her lips on his.

He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming. Maybe he would awaken back in the cell, the stench and the hunger returned. He tried to wake up, to open his eyes, but nothing happened.

This was real.

Not five minutes after he arrived at the stables, Mirevas appeared. His pulse raced at the sight of her.

“My lady.”

Without a word, she took his hand and gave a tug. He followed her obediently.

* * *

When they stepped inside her quarters, before they even got up the stairs, Mirevas turned to him, throwing her arms around him, crushing her lips to his.

It was too much to believe, but he wasn’t going to question it. He wrapped his arms around her immediately, one hand snaking up to cup her head, the other holding her by the small of her back. She flattened herself against him, pushing him with enough force that his back hit the wall behind him.

His prison injuries flared in pain, and he cried out.

Mirevas tore her lips from his. “Are you all right?”

“I’m better than I’ve ever been in my life,” he said, reaching for her again.

She didn’t protest, falling back into his arms willingly. Her fingers splayed against his chest, then moved to unfasten the lacings at the front of his shirt.

Blackwall broke the kiss. “Aren’t you angry with me?”

“Maybe I’ll be angry later, when I’ve had time to get used to you being safe.”

“But --” Her lips moved to his ear, nipping at the lobe, and Blackwall had to fight to keep his mind on what he was saying. “I’m a criminal. I lied to you. I’m not--”

“Blackwall,” Mirevas said sharply. “Shut up.”

That was one order he was happy to obey.

Mirevas kissed a line down his neck. She worked her way through the fastenings of his shirt, then pulled it open. Her fingertips grazed one of his wounds, and he winced.

She stopped. Blackwall tried to capture her lips again, but she pulled back, looking at his chest.

Her lip trembled. “Oh, Blackwall…”

“It’s all right,” he said, but she was crying, her hands reaching for his head, drawing him closer oh so carefully. He slid his arms around her, guiding her head to rest against his chest. “Please don’t cry for me, my lady. I’m not worth your tears.”

“You’re not worth --” She let out a sob, then dragged herself away. “Get up those stairs, Blackwall. Now.”

She sounded angry. It hadn’t taken long. It didn’t matter; he was prepared to grovel and beg for her forgiveness as much as he had to. She was giving him another chance. He would give her whatever she needed. He climbed the stairs as she’d ordered, with her following behind.

“On the bed,” she said.

He obeyed, sitting gingerly on the edge.

Mirevas crossed to her desk. She rummaged through the drawers and pulled out a bottle of some kind.

“Take your shirt off,” she all but growled.

He started to slip a sleeve off his arm. “You’re angry now.”

“Yes,” she snapped, “yes, I’m angry.”

“It was the biggest mistake of my life, accepting that job, betraying my country. So many times I’ve wished I could just go back --”

“I’m not talking about that.”

He pulled the other sleeve off and put his shirt on the bed.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you. I never wanted to hurt you --”

“I’m not talking about that, either.”

She sat next to him, dabbing some liquid onto a soft cloth.

“My lady,” Blackwall said, his voice hoarse, “please, tell me what you’re angry about, and I will beg your forgiveness.”

“You were going to die!” she shouted suddenly.

Silence. Blackwall could think of nothing to say.

Mirevas sighed. “This might sting,” she said quietly.

She pressed the cloth to a wound. He barely noticed the jolt of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Blackwall whispered.

A tear fell from her lashes. “How could you let them kill you?”

“They were going to execute an innocent man. How could I trade his life for my own?”

She dabbed at the dried blood on his arm, then wet the cloth again, not taking her eyes off her work. “If you’d come to me, the Inquisition could have intervened.”

Blackwall hadn’t even considered the possibility. “And sully the Inquisition’s good name? Why would you intervene for me?”

“Because I love you, Blackwall!” Mirevas cried. The tears were flowing freely again. “Because you are more valuable to me than anything in this world. Did you trust me so little that you thought I would let you go to your death?”

“I thought -- if you knew --”

Mirevas dropped the cloth and grabbed his hands, raising them to her lips. She kissed them reverentially, her tears wetting the skin of his fingers. “You are the only person to ever truly love me. The only person I’ve ever truly loved. And you tried to take yourself from me.”

“My lady.” He pulled on her hands, tugging them against his heart. “My life was a small sacrifice for the greater good.”

“It’s not. Stop telling me how unworthy you are, Blackwall, because I don’t care. You can think whatever you want about yourself. I know the truth.”

“I don’t deserve --”

“What do _I_ deserve?” She was shouting again, the tears falling fast and thick. “Do I deserve for you to die?”

Shock made him silent.

“Yes, there it is! I’m selfish. I saved you because I can’t live without you. I did it for me, because you are so _enansal’a_ beautiful, in body and soul, that I couldn’t stand to lose you!”

Blackwall thought his heart might burst.

“Now let me tend to your _fenedhis_ injuries, because I can’t stand to look at them any longer. Please.”

He released her hands, and with a sob, Mirevas’s head fell forward, resting against his chest.

“Don’t cry anymore,” Blackwall begged. “Please. What can I do? Tell me and it’s yours.”

“Kiss me,” she said, her lip quivering.

He leaned in slowly, fearful lest she push him away in her anger, and brushed his lips against hers, softly, gently. Her sweet, full lips. He’d never get enough of them.

She made a sound of protest and deepened the kiss, sucking on his lower lip. Maker, her kisses drove him mad. It was all he could do not to gather her up tight in his arms and plunder her mouth. No, whatever happened now needed to come from her. He would follow her lead.

They needed each other, needed the reality of each other’s touch. When Mirevas reached for the waistband of Blackwall’s breeches, he helped her to tug them off. She was so cautious, so soft, so gentle with him, but she couldn’t hide her obvious passion, and neither could he. He removed her clothing quickly, not bothering to be careful himself, and then they were in each other’s arms again. He was still sitting when Mirevas climbed into his lap, straddling him, guiding him into her, giving in to what they both needed.

The combination of carefulness and heat was a teasing sort of pleasure. Blackwall lost himself in her. He inhaled her scent, tasted her lips, enveloped himself in the warmth of her body. Mirevas became his world, and nothing existed but her.

His hand slid between them, finding her center, eliciting one of the squeaks he loved so much. His thumb caressed her, drawing slow circles over her clit as she moved above him. Her body was tense, quivering, her breathing ragged. And then she shuddered, hard, gripping his shoulders tight as spasms overtook her.

He followed shortly after, his cock pulsing, his body shaking, and Mirevas held him through it, whispering in his ear. “I love you. Blackwall, Thom, my knight, my champion. I love you, I love you, I love you.”


	16. Chapter 16

The touch of Mirevas’s careful fingers as she tended his wounds sent Blackwall into a trance. The sting of the poultice disappeared under the gentleness of her hands. She dabbed at his wounds cautiously, biting her lip, her brow furrowed. He watched her silently. That she was here with him now, caring for him -- it defied all possibility. He sat, docile under her ministrations, unable to understand how he could possibly deserve her forgiveness, but grateful beyond measure for whatever miracle had befallen him.

As she tied off the last of the bandages, he found himself whispering, “This cannot be real.”

Mirevas tilted her head back to look at him. “Do you trust me that little?”

Trust? “I’d trust you with my life. With the fate of the entire world.”

“But you don’t trust that I love you.”

Her voice held a note of carefully hidden hurt. Blackwall stared at her in surprise.

“My lady, no. It’s not like that.”

Her fingers trailed softly down his arm, and her hand rested on his. “Explain it to me.”

Explain that he didn’t deserve her kindness? She was a gleaming star, and he was a dark pit. She was a diamond, and he was dirt, dulling her shine. How could he possibly explain?

He took a breath, searching for words. “I don’t know how -- I look at myself, and I can’t see anything of value. But you look at me, and you see -- what do you see, Mirevas? I can’t understand. After everything I’ve done I -- I don’t know how you can love me.”

Mirevas’s hand drew back. She regarded him with a furrowed brow, as if looking for a solution she couldn’t find.

Maybe this was it. Maybe she had realized there was nothing to love after all. If he had finally convinced her he wasn’t worthy… Maker’s balls, he didn’t think he could survive it.

He looked away, unable to tolerate her searching gaze.

Her hand on his chin turned his face back towards her.

“Thom,” she whispered. “I love you because you’re you. You’re looking at what you’ve done, but _you_ \--” she touched her fingertips to his heart “-- are not that mistake. You’re a man who loves, who struggles, who doesn’t give up. A man who keeps trying, even when the goal seems impossible.”

His chest was too tight. He couldn’t breathe.

“You, me, _everyone_ \-- we’re more than the sum of our actions. There’s no cosmic scale weighing out one act on the side of good, another on the side of evil. We do good things -- _you_ do good things -- because people need it. You gave up on yourself long ago. That’s how I know you’re unselfish. You act for what’s right, not for yourself, but because you want to ease suffering. Because you care. I’ve always seen that in you, and nothing has changed.”

He couldn’t be what she was describing. She must be wrong. He looked into those brown eyes, and they were staring back at him with so much certainty that his heart pounded. “You believe that? How can you be sure?”

“Because you’ve proven it to me, time and again. And when I pardoned you, yes, I made my choice selfishly, but it doesn’t matter. I believe I did the right thing.”

“But how? _Why_?”

“Because there’s nothing to be done about the past. I need to look to the present, to the future. What will benefit the world more?” She blinked, then swallowed. “Your death, or your sword arm in the service of the Inquisition? For your heart to stop beating, or for it to heal, to love…” She choked up.

Blackwall drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head.

She found her voice again. “All the people you can help, can save, should they suffer because of your mistake? And is it better for me to grieve a loss I could never recover from, or to curl up each night with the man I love in my arms? Yes, I’m selfish. I am. But I know one thing. Your death won’t bring back those who died, and it won’t heal the hearts of those who lost them. But it will tear mine apart, and the hearts of all those who have come to care about you. How is that better?”

Blackwall couldn’t answer her. His throat was closed up.

“You asked me what I see when I look at you. I see the man I love. A man the real Blackwall would be proud of.”

It took a few tries, but Blackwall found his voice. “Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?”

She drew back to look at him, a half smile on her lips. “No.”

“It was your eyes that I noticed. They’re piercing, my lady. I looked at you, standing in the sunlight, and I thought, ‘Those eyes see everything.’”

Mirevas raised her eyebrows. “Do you still believe that?”

“In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve only become more convinced of it.”

“Then you believe me? You trust what I see in you?”

He hesitated only a moment. “Yes. I have to trust eyes that see everything.”

She bit her lip. “Then you should know that these eyes also see the man I will love forever. The man I want to grow old with.”

Blackwall shuddered and looked away. It was too much.

Mirevas frowned. “You still don’t believe me.”

“I do, Mirevas. I do.”

“Truly?”

“You are everything I want, Mirevas.” Mirevas, Mirevas. He loved her name. “I am yours, forever if you’ll have me. And if you see good in me, I will thank the Maker every day for blessing me with your love.” He reached a hand towards her face, and she closed her eyes. Gently, he brushed a thumb over her eyelids. “You say you look at me and see a good man. I don’t know how it can be possible. But I will always trust your eyes.”


End file.
